An always growing list of my favorite people: Cara Delevingne
 âMy sexuality is not a phase. I am who I am.â
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@fleurctte-blog
An always growing list of my favorite people: Cara Delevingne
 âMy sexuality is not a phase. I am who I am.â
( â€&&. TASK 001. THE BEAUMONTâS // FAMILY. âąÂ )
â Â Howâs my family? Well, my fatherâs incarnated for a crime, that Iâm sure he didnât commit. My mother lost her job, after word got out about my fatherâs arrest and oh, did I mention weâre dirt poor now? Yeah, itâs taken a toll on my family. My mother is working two new jobs, running back and forth on visitation dayâs at the prison, and spends the rest of her time talking to lawyers. My sister, God, knows what happened to her. Sheâs been gone for a year now. Maybe she ran away, maybe she didnât want to live our new lifestyle, or maybe someone took her. Thatâs what mother thinks. She walks into the police department every week looking for new updates on, Fleur. Honestly, if my sister did run away, I wish she took me with her. Oh and me? Iâm in school working my ass off and Iâm not sure how Iâm going to pay my tuition for the next year. So, yeah, weâre fine. â - Dawud Beaumont.Â
( &&. âąÂ Francis Edmund Beaumont âą Fourty-Seven ⹠Adoptive Father âąÂ )
( &&. âąÂ Isabella Eliza Clarke Beaumont âąÂ Fourty-Five ⹠Adoptive Mother âąÂ )
( &&. âąÂ Dawud Naseem Shahin Beaumont  ⹠Twenty-Three ⹠Adoptive Brother âąÂ )
( &&. âąÂ Fleurette Maria Kirschenbaum Beaumont  âąÂ Twenty  ⹠Adopted âąÂ )
fist emoji!
đ â Fighting:
Fleur has barely had any experience with physical fighting. The only time she had participated in a âfist fightâ, was when she was sixteen and wasted at a local party. Her alcohol tolerance is low and âtill this day Fleur hasnât figured out how she and her âfriendâ at the time, got into a physical fight. And she only remembers faint details of it, such as hair pulling, a few punches and scratching her âfriend.â Of course, she was embarrassed by the ordeal when a video of the two fighting had surfaced. She apologized for the sake of her reputation. I think she could probably win a snow ball fight.Â
đ đ· đŒ đ đș
đâ Makeup:
Given the limited makeup brands that Elswood has, Fleurette keeps her makeup to a minimum. Â From time to time, sheâll often manipulate one of her classmates into buying her lip balm or a new colour of lipstick. The one thing she has to have with her at all times, is mascara. Not only does it bring it out her lashes, but it produces a wonderful effect. As her mascara smudges and fake tears roll down her cheeks, her sob stories become more believable.Â
đ· â Taking Care of Living Things:
While, her name may mean flower in French, she does not know the first thing about taking care of them. Even when she receives flowers or a bouquet, she often forgets to put them in water or throws them out in the trash. Her theory is that, even if she did have plant of some sort to take care of; it would wither away due to the lack of commitment or nurture Fleur could not provide towards it.Â
đŒâ Taking Care of Children:
Refer to this text post.
đâ Luck:
Since the day she her adoptive parents brought her home from the agency, she has considered herself lucky. Growing up, she was lathered in the finest clothing and dined in the most expensive restaurants. As a teenager she had her daddyâs credit card to fall back on. Until, he was arrested for embezzlement and she lost her family fortune. Poor little rich girl was actually poor. To her luck when she developed a knack for stealing, she barely got caught due to her manipulative ways. Or, literally outrunning the law. Till this day, she finds herself thankful and lucky for never getting caught or exposed yet, for one of her many schemes at Elswood.Â
đșâ Alcohol Intolerance:Â
Very low. Itâs one of the very reasons she chooses not to drink large amounts of alcohol. A glass or two, or a few shots are fine, but anything more and its lights out for her.
âWhat would you learn?â She was bored of musing over this alone. All those thoughts echoing inside her skull would only dredge up uncomfortable feelings on the darker, murkier parts of immortality. With an exaggerated sigh, Cricket threw herself against the hallway wall. âThereâs just so many things tâconsider. At least Mr. Morcos is here. I mean, worst case is I end up boring, but hot like him.â Though perhaps that was its own sort of curse. She was already hot. Time couldnât exactly improve upon perfection. But if she lost her sparkling charm? Ugh. And to do what? Become a teacher? Or â God forbid â a librarian? There were few things Cricket couldnât pull off and boring was definitely one of them.
It would be an understatement to say that Fleurette wasnât jealous of the gift that Cricket had. The brunette would be able to explore life without worrying about the after life that awaited her. Although, the aspect of loneliness had crossed her mind. Cricket could easily be alone forever. Family, friends and lovers, leaving this cold Earth while she remained. Her emotion of jealousy had mixed in with pity for the young girl. Though, for her to manifest those emotions towards Cricket would be the biggest sin of all for Fleurette. If she wanted to be Cricketâs fri â act like Cricketâs friend, she would have to start showing it or at listening to her.
The question, What would you learn?, echoed through Fleuretteâs mind. Had this truly been the day that Cricket Calhoun was asking Fleurette for her advice. âTo be frank, I wouldnât want to learn anything. I would travel around the world searching for eligible wealthy men and women to marry. So, when they do croak, I inherit everything they have and I become a self made billionaire.â Keeping her tone serious, Fleur threw her glance towards the brunette and broke out in a laugh. âIâm only joking.â No she wasnât.
âDarling. You won Miss America, youâre beautiful and clever. How could you ever become boring?â.
The blonde girl seated on the floor before him looked familiar (and gorgeous). That was Oliverâs first thought, before it occurred to him to get her up. A little too late to the idea, as she was already holding a hand out, ready to be assisted back to her feet. Oliver silently scolded himself and was reaching one of his ling arms down for her.Â
Then he froze, arm hanging in the air with no aim or purpose. Sweetheart? That was unexpected. He could swear she looked pissed just a fraction of a second ago (which was totally understandable). âUhââ the petname had caught him so off guard it was messing with his vocal abilities now.Â
A hard shake of the head got Oliverâs mind back on track (he hoped). âS-sure. Sorry.â Call him crazy, but people usually didnât look so pleased when they were knocked down to the floor. Was he becoming more handsome? A far fetched idea, but maybe a possible one. Why else would she be smiling like that? âYourââ He looked at said bum before he could help it. A+, if he had to rate it. âNah. Looks good.â
Fleurette merely glanced at the frozen arm the boy in front of her raised. Lifting her right brow, she could only start to imagine that he was yet, another one of Elswoodâs stereotypical jocks. By God, at least she hoped he was. For her only benefit only. Luckily, the blonde had caught him off guard with her delightful tone. He had fallen for her minor facade.Â
When he finally did help her stand on her own feet, a tender smile framed her face. Tender to the wandering eye, but deep down inside only she knew its true nature. âIâm starting to think thatâs true. Youâre not the first person to say so, but thank you. A compliment goes a long way.â Of course, her butt looked good.
âIâm Fleurette, by the way.â
His scrutinizing eyes narrowed further still at theformality of Mr. Collins. âSureâyeah. After giving me such an eloquentmusing on where to bangâhow could I ever believe that you, of all people, would do such a thing.â
âNot if I report you firstâdonât play this game with me,â hewagged his finger. âI need you to pinky promise that youâll never considerbanging another student in the supply closet, and if anybody suggests doing itI need you to put the fear of God in them because I donât appreciate people hooking up where I keep the cleaning supplies.â
Her darting gaze drifted towards the man and she let it drop in an instant. Fleurette had allow herself to stay silent and wanted to stay that way. Sliding her backpack off her shoulder, she let it drop to the ground beneath her feet. After searching for the items she needed, she stood up straight once more. Stretching out her right arm, she urged him to take the two bags of unpopped popcorn she held. âConsider this a peace offering between the two of us. I paid for them with my own points.â
The last thing Fleurette wanted to was to get in trouble. At least trouble that lurked around the staff members. She couldnât afford to have a detention or worse. âIâll pinky promise and Iâll even let you in on a little secret. Rumour has it, that the supply closest on the third floor is the teacherâs hotspotâŠI suppose you can figure out the rest.â
Muse skillset symbol meme
Send an emoji to learn how good/bad my muse is at that particular skill!
đ â kissing
đ â makeup
đŸÂ â video games
đ” â singing
đ â dancing
đč â playing an instrument
đ·Â â taking care of living things
đČ â surviving in the wilderness
đ â fighting
đ â following rules
đłÂ â cooking
đŒÂ â taking care of children
đ â giving presents to others
đ â hosting parties
đ â romance/flirting
đšÂ â art
đ â luck
âœïž  â sports
đ â swimming
đ â driving
đźÂ â magic
đ â investigating
đ«Â â long range weapons
đŁ â explosives
đȘÂ â melee weapons
đŹÂ â scientific pursuits
đżÂ â hygiene
đ°Â â finance
đ â knowledge of the world
đ»Â â communing with the paranormal
đ â reading
đ§Â â engineering/mechanics
âïžÂ â time management
đ„ â organization
đșÂ â alcohol tolerance
đŽÂ â riding a bike
đ â performance art/acting
âïžÂ â sailing
â â mathematics
Something about the way she carried herself felt simultaneously unnerving and intriguing. Was it arrogance? Some kind of air or superiority? Either way, he carried on, half of a smile on his face as she leaned up against the wall. âYeah, I had a feeling,â his voice is clearly amused as arms cross in front of him.
Master? He wouldnât go that far. Ashe has only been on this earth for 22 years. Thatâs hardly enough time to master anything, let alone sex. Quite the lover? Now, that one was possible. Maybe heâs tooting his own horn with that thought, though. He wasnât going around handing out post coitus questionnaires, so thereâs no way he could really know for sure. He almost scoffs at the formality of the words. Lovers. Lovemaking. They were so overly polite that they were almost cringeworthy.
âWell, itâs not impossible. I mean, I did everything except lovemaking in the common area and the stairwellââ Because heâs a GENTLEMAN with STANDARDS. ââAnd donât get any ideas either. Those were locker room stories since Iâm not one to, uh, watch people fuck,â he says, the word punctuated by a head nod. Funny how refreshing it felt to say now that lover after lover left her lips. The more vulgar things seemed to roll of his tongue a hell of a lot better.
ââIâm not that kinky anyways.â
Fleurette had to tread lightly with her thoughts. If her thoughts wandered across her pretty little head, the dancing devil would come out to play. All she wanted was to toy with him for a little. Though, it had not been the first time where a little had turned into a lot. Holding back her signature grin and allowing herself to clear her mind, she let a puzzle look play upon her face. With that, she pushed herself off the wall and walked a few feet closer towards him. âOh really?â.
The word lovemaking rings in her ears, and surprisingly itâs not coming from her mouth. Itâs coming from his. Though, the way he pronounces, or at least she assumes it to be a foreign word for him to use. âEverything?â. The bewildered look that framed her face had disappeared. Now, a stunned gaze was the mask she had on. Fleurette was not only one hell of a singer, but one hell of an actress.
âWhen I said you were quite the lover â I was teasing. I suppose, not only was I wrong, but I owe you an apology. It turns out you are quite the lover.â By her book she was never wrong. âIf youâre not one to watch people fu â make love, then what about porn? I mean surely, you couldnât have learned everything just by⊠experience.â Fleur knew that very soon she would have to back off, or boundaries would be broken.Â
Thea watched the blonde with a certain curiosity and sadness, and then was quick to respond at her apology. âNo- donât, itâs fine. Youâre right. Itâs like some fucking comedy act theyâre pulling.â Thea shook her head, instead of looking at the sunset, peering beyond the trees and beyond. âAn illusion,â she repeated softly under her breath. Maybe thatâs it.Â
âHave you been here long?â She ended up asking after a short silence, the uncomfortable feeling in her chest still present.Â
Fleurette allowed a sense of curiosity to wash over her. The fawning sunset glimmered in the horizon, as her gaze broke away from it and onto the brunette. Her fixated gaze on the young woman had steady, as she opened her mouth to speak. âHave you ever seen the Truman Show?â. Instead of letting the girl answer, Fleurette continued on with her remark. âThis man, Truman, discovers his entire life since birth has been staged. And worse of all, itâs been broadcasted on live television for thirty years straight. Everything heâs known from his career, family and friends have all been a hoax.â
She paused, allowing herself to catch a breath. âThe Truman show is a comedy and Elswood is a comedy act. The movie and the school parallel itself so unseeingly. Anya Elswood watches over our every move, observing our perfections and flaws.â Fleur curses herself in the back of her head, for uttering Anya Elwoodâs name in this conversation. No, Fleurette doesnât fear her, but she fears of what Anya can do to her. âNot only is this forest an illusion, but our lives are now a comedy act. Except the whole world isnât watching.â Or, maybe they were.Â
âA year.â She saids proudly with a her best faux smile. âHow about you, darling? You seem new⊠Iâm guessing youâve been here, oh, a few daysâŠweeks or months?â.
The art room was usually messier than most classrooms, and Haneul didnât bother to fix it. Hair pulled up in a messy bun, she sat at an easel, painting a beach in Busanâor what she remembered of it. Memories were fickle things; the good ones ( happiness and laughter and peace ) were sometimes harder to pick out than the bad ones ( curses and crying and slamming doors ). When the door opened, she flinched at the noise. âWatch out, you might slip.â
As a child, Fleurette was the devil in disguise, and yet to this day she prided herself on being just that. She was young, rebellious and full of life, and she had knack of wandering off to place she wasnât suppose to be. The memories of sneaking out with her brother to dance in the warm summer rain past two, to roaming the shores of Marseille alone had pondered her mind. But, the one memory that made her feel vulnerable and home sick had intruded her mind instead. The one she refused to talk about. She hated the feeling of being weak, and needed to relinquish the past from the present. Fleur needed to distract herself, and oddly enough, she chose the art room. Not to draw or paint of course, just to observe the many fine pieces of art.Â
Reaching for the doorknob of the art room, she let herself fling open the door to see a familiar girl. Her name hadnât slipped her mind like most peopleâs name at Elswood. Haneul.
âSo, Iâve noticed. I expect art students to be messy, but never this messy.â
A yawn ripped through him, too powerful to be held down. Not one for manners, Oliver let his jaw drop and made the accompanying sound. It didnât even occur to him to put his hand up and cover his mouth. Classes just took it out of him. (not that he liked to generalize, but maybe jocks really werenât meant for the classrooms) The door for the last class he had today was right ahead and Oliver went for it.Â
Now, here is one of the issues with being 6âČ3 â if you didnât pay attention, you could easily miss the people walking right in front of you and bump into them hard enough to make them trip. âShit,â he mumbled and reached to steady the victim of his inadvertence. âMy bad, my bad. You good?â
Fleurette had contemplated missing her final class of the day, but her scheming mind wouldnât allow it. Welll, it wasnât hard to get out of class, with just a slip of a fair warning. A little sob story to her teacher there, or, a trip to the nurses office could always do the trick. Caught up with her own greedy thoughts, she was caught off guard when something, no, someone collided with her. Worse of all, she had landed on her bum and felt like an utter fool. And she hated feeling like a fool.
Titling her head back, she saw a familiar boy. Fleur had seen him in at least one of her classes before, but again, she must of not cared that much about him to remember his name. Extending her arm out towards him, she gestured for him to help her get up. Her mind screamed for her to say, TĂȘte de noeud, but instead she started her sentence with âSweetheart.â Good play.
âIâll be more than alright, once you help me off the ground.â Letting a coy smile appear on her face, a thought crept up on her mind. Maybe, he could be useful to her after all. âWell, I may be alright, but my bum may not be.â
âWell, I guess thereâs a bright side to everything, including this place. Like that sunset. Damn.â Thea shook her head, hands propped on her hips and eyes peering out above and between the trees. âSo, you really can only go so far, huh?â Thea turned and asked the person next to her.
There was only little the girl could do after the day had ended. Classes were finished for the day, and she needed some time to herself, to clear her mind. Or, formulate her selfish plans for the next day. She had always wondered herself if she would get tired of her scheming plans and her selfish needs. But, she was Fleurette Beaumont. The girl who never stopped getting what she wanted. Even if meant going through a few drastic measures.
Stumbling upon a brunette, she allowed herself to make eye contact with her and gave her nod of acknowledgement. Fleur had opened her mouth to speak, but she was beaten to it. âI suppose itâs their way of mocking us and keeping us in our place.â She paused, before allowing herself to continue. âWe can admire it from a distance, and dream of what the end of the forest holds once we reach the end. Thereâs no escape. The end of the forest is just merely an illusion.â
Fleurette had gone through her little speech in her mind, before deciding it was terribly cheesy. âThat was a little to sentimental, even for my taste. I do apologize.â